


A Ghostly Disappearence

by MidnightMonster



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Conan Doyle Canon References, Gen, Ghost John, Ghost Sherlock, Ghosts, Help, I need a new title, Johnlock - Freeform, Kid John, Kid Sherlock, Kid!Lock, M/M, Magical Realism, POV Mycroft Holmes, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 06:15:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10237640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightMonster/pseuds/MidnightMonster
Summary: Sherlock makes a friend on the playground. His name is John. However when the Holmes family decides that they want to meet him things go downhill. Mycroft is left with a missing brother who he might actually never had.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!

Mycroft was always worried about Sherlock. First because he had no friends and then because he had one.

It all started when he went to the playground which wasn't that far from the cemetry. He told him he wanted to test something with  the swings. They let him go. 

Later that night Sherlock returned with a big smile on his face. He told Mycroft excitedly that he had made a friend. His name was John.

Mycroft smiled and let Sherlock to be happy. After a while though he started to become concerned.

For six months Sherlock went back to the playground everyday and always came home with new adventures with John. When Mother asked Sherlock to invite John over so they could get to know him, Sherlock refused to. When they asked him way Sherlock just shrugged and told: he can't leave the playground.

After that they became worried. Mycroft told his Mother that he would go with Sherlock to see John for himself. His father hearing that decided to follow them just in case.

Sherlock agreed to take Mycroft with him, so they set out unknown to them that their father was following them.

When they arrived at the playground Mycroft couldn't resist the shiver which ran down his spine. The playground looked gloomy and there was no one there beside them. The swings slowy moved in the wind occasionally giving a screeching noise. The picture was completed by the cemetery in the backround.

"John!" Sherlock shouted, unconcerned by the whole scenario.

There was nobody in sight and Mycroft looked at Sherlock who was glancing around, looking like this was perfectly normal. The older brother seriously started to worry about his brother's mental state when suddenly one of the branches from the tree next to them fell and almost crushed Mycroft.

He jumped in fright and looked at his little brother who was just annoyed.

"Sherlock, we should go-"

"No!" He snapped and looked around more frantically. "Come out John. This is just Mycroft. He wants to meet you." He said to the air.

"Sherlock, there is no one-"

He tried to reason with his brother when suddenly he felt something poke him on his right side.

He swallowed and turned. At first he saw nothing and he thought that he just imagined it, but then he looked down and froze.

Next to him was standing a little boy, who reached a little bit above his waist. The boy was pale, his eyes had purple circles underneath them. He was thin, his hair was stuck together from the grim. His clothes were unruly and had dirt on them. If this hadn't been enough to ring alarm bells in Mycroft's head then the blood certainly was. 

The boy, John, had dried brown blood on his clothes from a wound on his left shoulder. 

"What are you?" Mycroft asked in a hoarse voice while taking a step back and pulling Sherlock with him.

However his little brother squirmed out of his hold and stood next to John. Not worried about the boy's appearance at all.

"He is a ghost, Mycroft." He rolled his eyes and started to pull Mycroft by his hand. "I'll show you."

Mycroft, still dumbfounded from the whole thing followed numbly while watching John fall in step next to Sherlock and occasionally looking at him warily.

Sherlock stopped in front of a small grave at the side of the graveyard. It wasn't a proper tomb, Mycroft realised. It was merely a bigger rock. The name on it was worn, but he still managed to read it.

 

_John H. Watson_

_1888-1895_

 

The date wasn't proper, the exact day were missing, Mycroft noted dully. He glanced at John, who was oddly enough looking at him shyly.

"Mother was always drunk. She didn't know what day was, only the year." He said and shuffled his feet. "Sherlock wanted to know this first." He said as an explanation.

Mycroft swallowed thickly and then nodded toward the gun shot wound. 

"Father had no money to feed us so he chose an alternative." He said curtly and shrugged. "He let my older sister alive in hopes that she would marry someone wealthy. She was the one who arranged my grave."

"And how did-"

"Oh, Mycroft! Enough of these tedious questions. John is a ghost!" He then grabbed his friend's hand. "See! He can even be solid if he wants to for a while. There is no need to wo-"

"Let go of my sons, you monster!" They heard a shout and all three of them froze. Their father ran up to them with a gun in hand and aimed it at John. Before anyone can say a thing, he fired.

However the bullet went through without touching John and hit Sherlock right in the shoulder. His little brother cried out and fell to the ground.

"Sherlock!" Everyone cried out. Mycroft kneeled next to him and tried to stop the bleeding. John stood frozen in his place, staring at his friend in shock. Their father was looking horrorfied and took an unsteady step toward them.

This snapped John out of his trance and looked at the shooter. Anger was visible in every fiber of his body. Mycroft felt the wind pick up and he even heard a thunder not far away.

"I didn't mean to- Oh God! Sherlock! Sherlock. I am sorry. God!" His father voice was weak.

John pursed his lips and he looked so much older than the seven years old he was. He stomped his foot and at the same time Mycroft heard another thunder. This time much closer.

John turned to him, ignoring the panicked man. "I think I can help." He told him.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Mycroft asked angrily. His brother was bleeding out in his arms. "Do it!"

John nodded and reached toward his forwhead with a finger. Mycroft, despite not wanting to, closed his eyes as soon as the finger touched him. 

The next moment he woke up with a jolt in his bed. The sun was shining through the curtains in his room and he even heard the birds singing in the cool summer morning.

At first he was quite disorientated then just as if he was kick-started everything came back. 

With a rush he flung the covers off of himself and ran across the corridor to Sherlock's room. He threw open the door expecting to find his brother's messy room.

What greeted him was completly else. It was fully packed with his mother's expensive collection of porcelains and paintings. No sign of his brother ever stepping a foot in this place. Even the walls weren't the fine dark blue which Sherlock adored.

Panic bubbling up in his stomach, Mycroft ran into his father's study without knocking.

The man was already there, sitting at his desk and drinking his morning tea as if all was right with the world. Upon seeing his son's state, the wild eyes the fast breathing he immediately abandoned his drink and stood up worriedly.

"Mycroft, you alright son?"

The Holmes boy was just about to answer when he spotted the painting of the family just behind his father. He froze.

On the painting his mother was sitting in an old armchair and Mycroft was standing to her left while father to her right.

It looked completely normal, except it wasn't. Sherlock was supposed to be there. His brother was supposed to sit on his mother's lap, looking like the sulky three years old he was when he had to sit still for the sake of the painting. But he wasn't there. This was wrong. Really wrong.

"Sh- Sherlock?"

"What Mycroft?"

"Where is he?" He asked in panic.

"What are you talking about darling?" His mother asked kindly who probably entered while Mycroft was almost shocked to death by the painting.

"Sherlock!"

"Who is he Myc? A friend?"

Mycroft shook his head violently. How could  his mother had forgotten about the boy who sulked if he was bored. Who did experiments. Who wanted to be a pirate. Who was her little son. Who was his little brother.

How could they have forgotten? How could he have disappeared?

"Come on. You must had a vivid dream. I make you some tea." His mother led him out. He let her.

 

■■■

 

Two days later he went back to the playground. The branch which had fallen was attached to the tree as if it had always been.

The playground was filled with joyful kids and chatting parents. Mycroft felt uncomfortable. 

Without looking at them he went to the side of the cemetery. He stopped in front of the rock and knelt down.

There was nothing on it. It was just an old rock.

It looked like, just as his brother, John Watson was erased as well.

 

■■■

 

He never mentioned Sherlock to his parents ever again. He knew that he didn't made him up. He wasn't that creative as his brother had said numerous times in the past.

He didn't know what to do. He just hoped that against all odds he was well.

 

■■■

 

Many years later when Mycroft was part of the British government his father passed away. After the incident with Sherlock he never knew how to feel about him. After all he was the main reason his brother was gone. But on the other hand the man had good intentions when he shot and now he had no idea that he had another son. He raised Mycroft with love, but still. Mycroft couldn't help but blame him partly.

Nevertheless he showed up at the funreal, giving his mother a shoulder to cry on. After the service was over he was the last one to leave. He planned to tell his father's grave the things that happened on that day and tell him about the son which looked like he never had.

That was the plan. But as he stood there he realised the words didn't want to come out. He blamed that on sentiment. Just as he turned to leave he heard a joyful laugh.

He stood up sharply and looked around. He saw no one, but he heard the laugh again. This time he followed it and ended up almost fainting. Some people would have described his expression like he had just seen a ghost and truthfully, they wouldn't have been far off the mark.

Because in front of him were two old graves. One had Sherlock Holmes on it the other John H. Watson.

On each-each grave stones sat a man. One of them had dark brown curly hair. He was tall and lean. His eyes icey blue but filled with warmth. He had a playful smirk on his face and a violin under his chin. He had nice clothes and a great, black coat on.

He was looking at a man who had sandy blond hair and kind blue eyes. He was grinning and he was in everyday clothes. 

They looked healthy and happy together.

However their relaxed demeanour ended when they noticed Mycroft. 

"Mycroft." The men nodded at him.

"She-Sherlock?" It had been years since he dared to utter the name.

"Quite." The man nodded.

"What? How?" He shuttered and cursed at himself. He always managed to keep a cool front but when he really needed to he realised that he couldn't. It was his brother. His brother he thought he had lost.

"John saved me and transfered us back to his own time. He didn't really know if it would work but it turned out better than expected. Both of us were alive. The short story is that we moved in together, we solved crimes and he wrote about it. You might have read the books. They are quite popular."

At that John shot a smug smile at Sherlock who rolled his eyes.

"We died in Sussex but as you see we are still intact with the world and now we can solve every crime in history."

Mycroft gaped at them.

"Currently we help New Scotland Yard and it's really amusing to scare Anderson to death while doing so." 

"Sherlock." John scolded him, but Mycroft saw the humour in his eyes.

His brother shrugged. "All of them are idiots John." Then he paused to think. "Well, maybe Gordon isn't completly a lost cause."

"You mean Lestrade."

John only recieved a grunt at that.

Mycroft cleared his throat. "So you are always here when you are not off solving crimes?"

"No. We live where we always did." John answered with a fond smile.

Sherlock nodded. "Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, is John's relative. His sister after all managed to marry someone decent. She can see us too."

"Only relatives can see you?" 

"Mostly yes, though sometimes there are special cases." John looked at Sherlock with a warm smile and his brother's was equally joyful.

Mycroft coughed to get them out of whatever trance they had fallen into. Although, Mycroft suspected most people called it love. "Well then I must be off then, but I will be back Sherlock. Don't you dare to disappear on me again. I still have questions."

Sherlock scoffed. "I don't need an overprotective brother, Mycroft."

"I think he just wants to see you again, love." John said and caressed his, probably, lovers face.

Sherlock grunted and turned to John, making it clear to Mycroft that for now the discussion was over.

As Mycroft turned his back and started to leave, with a new found joy in his steps, he heard the violin music start again.

He wasn't satisfied with the amount of answers he had gotten, but now he could ask them any day he wanted. And until then he had some reading to do.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading it and sorry for any grammar mistakes. Feedbacks are welcomed!


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